


Dinner Date

by superstringtheory



Series: Dinner Date [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Casseroles, F/M, Feeding Kink, First Dates, First Time Blow Jobs, Grinding, Past Bob Newby/Joyce Byers, Past Relationship(s), Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: Joyce invites Hopper over for dinner.





	Dinner Date

A lot of this started because of Bob. Well, he supposes none of it would be possible without him- if Bob were still around, he’d have a ring on Joyce’s finger and an arm around her waist. But Bob’s not around and never will be again. So there’s an opening in Joyce’s life, just enough room for a man at her side, maybe even one a little thick at the waist and only getting thicker. 

 

Bob was what first made him think it could’ve happened. Sure, they used to make out behind the high school, bumming cigs and tasting each other’s tongues, but they aren’t children anymore. She has two kids and a dead-end job and he’s supposed to be a pillar of the community. Before Bob, he never thought that anything could happen between him and Joyce- he was too sad, too lazy, too prone to eating his feelings. Joyce wouldn’t want someone like that, no matter what he felt when she squeezed his fingers in greeting or caught his eye. But Bob was fat, and there was no getting around that.

 

It was an unmutable fact, and the happiness he’d seen on Joyce’s face when Bob touched her makes him think that maybe she didn’t care about that, or maybe she even liked it. Preferred it, even. 

 

So when she invites him and El over for dinner one Friday night, he accepts. 

  
  


*** 

 

She shuts the oven door with her hip and he feels a twinge in his chest. Something like a future-tense regret, or a milky-eyed wistfulness. This is what it would be like to belong to her, to be her man. He could sit here at this little table every night and just watch her, drink her in and never feel thirsty again. 

 

“Drink?” Joyce says, a little loud, and Hopper jolts. He zoned out again, and that just won’t do. Joyce is the kind of woman who deserves all of his attention. 

 

“Uh,” he says gracefully, ducking his head. “Whatever’s fine.” 

 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Joyce says back, “but for a first dinner date for two single parents, don’t you think we want a little more than fine?” 

 

Hopper almost bites the tip of his tongue off. 

 

“... Date?” 

 

Joyce looks over her shoulder from where she’s rummaging in the fridge, face stern but eyes laughing. 

 

“What’d you think it was, Hop?” 

 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d thought maybe it was a precursor, a prologue to a tome long in the works. He never thought he’d be getting to the plot already. 

 

“Dunno,” he says finally. “Thought you felt sorry for us, I guess.” 

 

Joyce straightens, brandishes a beer at him. “Here. I’m choosing for you. Sorry for you, my ass.” 

 

God. Her ass. Even in those jeans, tight only at the waist and ankles, and those shapeless blouses she wears to work, her body is beautiful. What Hopper would do to run his hands up and down her sides, worship her, lay fingerprints all over her. 

 

Joyce cracks the beer open for him and stands close as he takes a first pull. 

 

“There,” she says, like he’s a project she’s working on. “Now…” she trails off as she turns away to check the oven, and Hopper’s treated to her bending over again, and he could live on this alone. 

 

“What’s cooking?” he asks, so he doesn’t accidentally say anything about her ass, even if this is a date. Their kids are sprawled on the floor in the other room, where Will is patiently showing El how to play an Atari game, and Hopper, for one, would like to be invited back again. 

 

“Casserole,” she says. “I wanted to make lasagna but all we had were elbows. So it’s a lasagna-like casserole.” She laughs a little, and Hopper’s vision goes blurry for a moment. 

 

Joyce seems to take his silence as a sort of disappointment, so she continues, “But it’s covered with cheese, you know, so it’ll be good. Maybe next time there’ll be steak. But, uh, well. This time, casserole.” 

 

“Shh, Joyce.” Hopper reaches an arm out, catches her tiny wrist in his hand and squeezes lightly. “Casserole is perfect.” 

 

Her face splits into a smile, and Hopper would do almost anything to keep her looking like that. They’re broken in similar ways, he thinks. (So maybe they can fix each other?) 

 

*** 

When Joyce doles out Hopper’s third full serving of casserole, he starts to think that she’s up to something. 

 

It’s delicious in that homecooked Midwestern way, slathered in melted cheese. But it’s also dense, and surely Joyce doesn’t want him to eat the whole thing himself. (Does she?) 

 

He’s almost tapped out by the middle of the fourth serving, having to take breaks to set his fork down and hide little burps behind his napkin. 

 

“You eat like this at home?” Joyce asks, with a twinkle in her eye. 

 

“I’m not much of a cook,” Hopper starts to say, but then El interrupts unexpectedly. 

 

“He eats lots of Eggos.” 

 

Hopper pats his mouth again with the napkin, then sets it demurely back in his lap. 

 

“Thanks, kid,” he says sardonically, but with a secret wink so that she’ll know he’s not mad. 

 

Will and El share glances across the table, then giggle. 

 

Hopper takes the opportunity to excuse himself for a minute. If he doesn’t loosen his belt it’s going to cut him in half. 

 

*** 

 

He comes back from the bathroom to only Joyce in the kitchen, finishing up putting single servings of casserole into olive green Tupperware containers. 

 

“Where’r the kids?” 

 

Joyce grins. “I told El that Will would show her how to go camping in the backyard. He’s got his dragons and dungeons books out there, I’m sure they’ll be occupied for a while.” 

 

Hopper breathes as deeply as he can- which doesn’t feel very deep right now. 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

And Joyce just tugs his hand. 

  
  


*** 

 

He can’t help but notice the side of her bed dip under his bulk, and he flushes a little in embarrassment. 

 

Joyce fits her hands over his face so he can’t look away. “That bed’s a piece of shit, Jim,” she says, calling him by his first name, something that makes him breathe a little weird, or maybe that’s just that she fed him a metric fuckton and now seems to expect him to do anything other than lie prone. 

 

She’s not shy about climbing onto his lap, and he can hardly handle all of this sensation- the aching churn of his too-full gut, the weight of her on his thighs, the feel of her breath on his neck and her hands on his face, his neck, moving downwards. 

 

She lifts his belly up from underneath his belly button and then shakes it a little, watching it jiggle. Hopper’s almost surprised that there’s still some give to it- god, he’s so full, so much that it hurts, and he stifles a burp in the back of his throat. 

 

“It’s okay, baby,” Joyce says breathily, “just let it out,” and--  _ baby? _ \-- so Hopper lets the next one out, a belch that rumbles deep and low, so much that he moans a little from the relief in pressure. 

 

“Good,” Joyce says, moving her hands up his sides, feeling her way along like she’s spelunking in the dark, like he’s some sort of topographical map she wants to read in Braille. 

 

Hopper moans again, and Joyce seems to realize that she’s been neglecting something else. 

 

“Hey,” she says, a little shyly, biting her lip, as if they’re teenagers again in the back of an old boat-shaped car, as if they haven’t known each other for twenty years. “Hey, Hop. Can I take your pants off?” 

 

Hopper looks at her for a moment, haloed in dim lamplight. He wants to remember this moment forever. 

 

“Okay,” he says finally, after he’s gotten his fill of looking at her, at least for now. “Okay. But only if I can lean up against something. And you take your shirt off.” 

  
  


*** 

 

Joyce bites her lip when she sees how tight his waistband is, and brushes his hands away after he can’t get the button undone. 

 

“Suck in,” she says without preamble, and Hopper listens as Joyce’s deft fingers work the button out and his full gut does the rest of the work of unzipping. 

 

“Must look like I’m a glutton,” he tells her as she’s working his pants down his thighs, and she looks up, making careful eye contact. 

 

“You’re no such thing, Jim Hopper. What you are is a well-fed man, and there are plenty of girls who like that.” 

 

She says it matter-of-factly, and in the heat of the moment, he even believes her, that the little gasping breaths she makes when she touches his gut are from genuine arousal, not just some sort of weird show she’s putting on. 

 

He groans again when she takes his dick in her mouth, and she looks up, dark eyes worried. 

 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

 

His fingers tangle in her hair and he’s momentarily at a loss for words. 

 

“No,” Hopper gasps finally. “It’s-- you’re-- perfect.” He scoots his hips down a little so that he’s more stretched out. “I’m just stuffed.” 

 

He sighs on the end of that word as she rolls his dick around her mouth. 

 

She’s good at this, and he does everything he can to just exist, to let this moment subsume the low radio hum of everything else--  _ did she do this for Bob, for her ex-husband, where did she learn it, is El okay, is the town not falling into the ground _ \-- and relax into the feeling of arousal and attraction. 

 

*** 

 

She uses her hands, too- twisting around the base of his dick and also reaching up to palm his bloated stomach, and Hopper can’t help but notice that it feels good to be touched there. Of course he likes her touching his dick, who wouldn’t, but it’s an odd surprise to enjoy someone touching where he’s most ashamed, that big ball of lard he has to carry around proudly in front of him like his life is built of happy family dinners and not stopping at every diner in the county when he’s out on patrol. 

 

He comes sooner than he anticipated, but Joyce doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she looks pleased with herself, surfacing with a slight gleam in her dark eyes and a little smirk at the corner of her mouth. 

 

“You like that?” she says, as if she doesn’t know, and Hopper has to take a minute to feel like he can form sentences. 

 

“Shit, Joyce,” he ends up saying, which is far from whatever sappy goop he thought was going to come out, “you’re incredible.” 

 

Joyce, for the record, bursts out laughing, and Hopper feels like he could do this again, every night. Let her stuff him to the gills with Midwestern cooking, come back here and make whatever kind of short-lived love he’s up for, then end the evening on the couch with the kids- watching them trade knowing glances about what they were up to and feasting their eyes on  _ The A-Team _ . 

 

“Well,” Joyce says, standing up and undoing her jeans in one swift moment. “Can you handle being there for another bit? I don’t think the rest of this is gonna take long.” 

 

***

 

And it doesn’t. Hopper tries so hard to keep his damned eyes open the whole time that they start to water, or maybe it’s just that she’s so beautiful, her hair flopping on her bare back when she grinds up against him. 

 

“Are you crying?” she asks when she’s done, after he’s held her close to him, felt her shudder and gasp. He didn’t miss the way she grabbed onto his love handles, held handfuls of his pudge right up against her clit. 

 

“No,” he says, too quickly, and reaches up to brush at his face. 

 

“Stop,” Joyce says. “Stop, or I’ll give you something to really cry about.” She grins, and it’s infectious, and God, what if it could always be like this? 

 

After everything he’s seen-- Sarah, the demogorgon, fields of rotting pumpkins and hellscapes-- he doesn’t really believe it could be. 

 

But watching Joyce-- shirt back on, but still in just panties-- crank the bedroom window open and yell, “Kids, dessert inside!” out into the night, well. That makes him feel a little hopeful. 

 

Joyce cranks the window shut again, hops back into her jeans and catches his eye as she’s zipping them up. 

 

“So,” she says. “Can I interest you in some dessert?” 

 

And Hopper says, “Sure. Anytime.” 

 

***** 

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr at superstringtheory.tumblr.com. I love sci-fi and dad bods.


End file.
